


now i drive alone past your street

by ifthebookdoesntsell



Category: The Prom (2020), The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Angst, F/F, My take on what was going on in Alyssa's head, Post Alyssa Greene, Post-Break Up, based on drivers license by olivia rodrigo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifthebookdoesntsell/pseuds/ifthebookdoesntsell
Summary: Alyssa sits in her car, staring forward as she watches rain pour onto her windshield and trail down onto the hood.She doesn’t know what to feel, how to feel. There’s a numbness, an unsurety in her movements as she reaches a hand up to wipe at her eyes.Emma just broke up with her.They’re the sort of words that don’t feel right on her tongue; she’d always imagined Emma as her forever. Her hands shake as she goes to reach for the heater. She’s shivering; it’s a feeling she isn’t used to.Emma used to always hand over her jacket when they were alone if Alyssa told her she was cold. Even just the mere presence of the girl would warm her up.She turns up the dial, breath stuttered from crying. Her heart is in her throat as she looks around the inside of her car.Everything reminds her of Emma.Afterall, Emma had been the one to teach her to drive.(Or, the one where Alyssa is reeling after the breakup, based on "drivers license" by olivia rodrigo.)
Relationships: Alyssa Greene/Emma Nolan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 64





	now i drive alone past your street

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! hope that the week is going well so far. i, like pretty much the rest of the world, have been listening to this song on repeat, and i honestly love it. i feel like i should say i recommend it, but i'm sure most people have already heard it even just a little excerpt of it. anyway, obviously, this is pretty emotional because it's about the breakup and stuff, but i hope that you enjoy :) 
> 
> (title from drivers license)

Alyssa sits in her car, staring forward as she watches rain pour onto her windshield and trail down onto the hood. 

She doesn’t know what to feel, how to feel. There’s a numbness, an unsurety in her movements as she reaches a hand up to wipe at her eyes. 

Emma just broke up with her. 

They’re the sort of words that don’t feel right on her tongue; she’d always imagined Emma as her forever. Her hands shake as she goes to reach for the heater. She’s shivering; it’s a feeling she isn’t used to.

Emma used to always hand over her jacket when they were alone if Alyssa told her she was cold. Even just the mere presence of the girl would warm her up. 

She turns up the dial, breath stuttered from crying. Her heart is in her throat as she looks around the inside of her car.

Everything reminds her of Emma. 

Afterall, Emma had been the one to teach her to drive. 

She recalls driving around the Walmart parking lot, hearing Emma yelp when she accidentally stepped on the break too quickly, picking Emma up in her car for the first time after she got her license. Those moments were some of the best of her life. 

Not everything about them was perfect, not by a long-shot, but when they were driving, pointing out the homes in their suburb that were particularly ugly or diverting onto a side street to share some kisses that grew more and more PG-13 as time went by, life felt alright, at least for that second. 

There’s a bobblehead on the dash that Emma got for her when she called to say she got her license, a little debater with a notebook in her hand and pen behind her ear; there’s the memories of holding Emma’s hand in the dark, of late night confessions and sunsets, of secret breakfast dates and firsts--

So many firsts. 

Emma was her first everything: first real kiss, first date, first love, but now, Emma is her first heartbreak, too. 

The past tense of their happiness hurts, but she supposes that everything they had now is historical and no longer a story to be told in the present or the future. 

It causes a new wave of hurt to well up inside her, causes a sob to ring through the empty cavern of her chest, makes her want to lean over the console and against Emma’s shoulder like she has so many times over the past year and a half and even before that when they would clumsily flirt, when they would go out to grab a burger and it would end up as a four hour endeavor that consisted of them discussing what it would mean to fall in love, what _living_ is, what hits them the deepest. 

Those talks would be wrapped in laughter and sometimes tears, and Emma was always there to hold her, to make her feel safe, patiently waiting for Alyssa to reveal her most terrifying and important secret. 

As time went on, Emma would bring her guitar on their dates, settle against the front hood of Alyssa’s car once they were far enough away from Edgewater that they wouldn’t be seen, play songs until her throat was dry and Alyssa was smiling so hard it may as well not have been dark outside. Emma would tell her stories with that sweet, loving voice, would tell her she knew they’d never hurt each other. She would play originals too, sing at a whisper that she never wanted to let Alyssa go, that all they need is each other. 

Part of her wants to smile thinking about those times; they seem so far away now. Another part of her longs to forget, longs to suspend this heartbreak in boxed up memories that she can ship away somewhere distant; she can’t imagine ever loving somebody the way she loves Emma.

Alyssa’s vision is beyond blurry, and she can’t tell if she’s unable to make out the shape of the buildings of James Madison High because of the fog of rain or the fog of heartbreak. 

She jumps when her phone buzzes with a text message. 

_Mom._

Of course it’s her mother. A small part of her heart thought it might be Emma, but there was always only a slim chance for that. 

Sniffling, she wipes again at her face, angrily attempting to shove any of the tears that are threatening to spill out back into her eyes. 

**[Mom, 3:35pm]:** _Are you on your way home soon, honey? The rain seems pretty bad…_

The words of worry only serve to make Alyssa angry. Her mother did this; her mother is the reason why she’s crying in the driver's seat of her car, is the reason why her first love caused her first broken heart, is the reason why she isn’t dancing outside with Emma, chilled to the bone but sure that nobody would see them because of the downpour. 

She wants to type back angrily, to say as much, to tell her mother that she’s gay in a fit of rage, to destroy everything her mother has built with just three words. 

Instead, she puts on her _good daughter_ face, typing out a friendly message.

 **[Alyssa, 3:38pm]:** Yes. Thanks for worrying. Got held up with some StuCo stuff. See you soon!

She throws her phone into the passenger seat, not wanting to see whatever her mother replies, before she finally jerks the car out of park. 

Carefully, she steers out of the school’s lot, all the while hearing little whispers that sound suspiciously like Emma’s voice, warning her of the dangers of driving when the sky has seemed to open up. 

She braves on, though, annoyed when she gets caught at a red light. It’s giving her more time to think than she can bear. She remembers kissing Emma at out-of-town red lights just like this one but without the fear of somebody seeing them in the car together, remembers Emma turning to her at a stop sign just to look at her. The light turns green, and Alyssa recalls the way Emma’s eyes glimmer and change with each passing moment, how they seem to hold a wisdom with each shift. 

She halts at a yellow light-- it always made Emma anxious when she would try to speed through them-- and sees blonde curls, unruly and perfect and soft to the touch. 

It’s all _so much,_ all the memories, all the good things they did that she can’t and doesn’t want to take back but now doesn’t know what to do with; Alyssa is sure that if she hadn’t already done all the crying she could-- if the sky wasn’t crying for her in the moment-- she would be wracked with sobs once more. 

But now, all she feels is a sort of emptiness as she turns, as she passes Emma’s street and spares a glance at the bracelet Emma got her for their year anniversary, the one she’d told everybody was something she’d saved up for when in reality Emma had busked and worked and _waited_ to give it to her when they hit that important day. Both of their initials are on the inside of the silver, engraved so softly that they’re only visible in perfect light. 

There’s a poetry to it, to the fact that she and Emma are-- were-- the same way: hidden, but beautiful. It dangles from her wrist, a reminder of all she lost, of what she’s done, of how much heartbreak that people with the last name _Greene_ can cause. 

She shakes herself out of it, pulling into a spot just around the corner from her house to fix herself up before she heads inside. There’s nobody she can say broke her heart to her mother, no famous actor or boy from another town or anything that would make sense, anyway. 

She looks at herself in the mirror of the sunshade and barely recognizes herself. 

She hasn’t looked this unhappy in years. Sure, her father left, but Emma had filled that silence, had made her feel full and adored when she was still reeling. 

Now, she has the face of somebody who’s finally had to endure hurt, had to finally sit down with it and unpack it and _feel it,_ with nobody there to drown out the noise of a delicate heart cracking in two. 

It’s cruel that this is where Emma used to always drop her off after dates. It’s cruel that she knows the patch of grass to her left better than a lot of things in this town. It’s cruel that rain is pouring down, drowning the plants in what’s supposed to give them life. 

She swallows down any more tears she has left. Greene women are the best at getting over hurt, her mother once told her. 

She understands why that would be necessary now. 

She can only hope it’s the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> so. what did you think? if you liked it, consider dropping me a comment/kudo down below. it would make me smile. 
> 
> as always, i'm @ifthebookdoesntsell on tumblr. my askbox is always open for whatever is on your mind. 
> 
> be safe x


End file.
